


A Simple Favor

by LetItRaines



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Enchanted Forest, F/M, Secret Relationship, Smut, Wee bit of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 10:01:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16553678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetItRaines/pseuds/LetItRaines
Summary: Killian Jones is a pirate. He’s no longer a Naval man or an admirable man as he once was. He’s a pirate, and that’s all he’ll ever be to the outside world. That is, until he meets a woman who changes his entire world…and then who changes it again when he has an encounter with her father.





	A Simple Favor

Soft wisps of hair surround him, clouding him from the outside world, all of his demons and heartaches disappearing, and the blackness fading into light as the blonde curls block his vision from everything else. Something about it does not seem right, though, all of the edges slightly hazy and blurred where they should be prominent and clear to his eyes. The gentle rocking of his ship also seems to be off, the Jolly at a standstill when the ship hasn’t been still since the death of his brother. Of course, it may have still been rocking gently on the waves while he was the one who stopped.

 

His eyes flutter open and the soft, golden wisps of hair disappear, and the faded edges of the room become sharp, everything from his dining table to his bookshelf full of tales of the sea and instructional lessons and sea charts still in their right places, all of the bookends brighter than they were a moment ago as he wakes from his slumber. When he rises from his bed, his body stiff and aching from the excess sleep and his heart aching for an entirely different reason, the rocking of the ship seems to be entirely too much, definitely too much for when they’re simply supposed to be docked in Arendelle and not sailing the open waters.

 

Something is wrong, and he is the captain of this ship. If something is wrong, he should be the first one to know and up on deck sailing the bloody thing instead snoozing away in his quarters. Throwing on his trousers and not bothering with anything else as he ascends the ladder to the deck of the Jolly, he sees his crew frantically milling about, controlling the Jolly only in the way that she needs to be controlled when they’re moving, and when he feels the salty air touch his skin, he knows that they are no longer docked.

 

Someone better have an explanation for this, and it better be a damn good one.

 

“Smee,” he bellows, anger coursing through his veins in a way that it hasn’t in a long time, blood boiling inside of him and causing his face to overheat to the point where he looks to be red with blush but is really red with fury, “what in the blazing hell is happening? Why did someone decide to move _my ship_ without my permission? Do you all have a death wish? Because I can guarantee, it will not be pleasant.”

 

“N-no-no, Captain,” Smee stutters, his port body and ever-present red cap suddenly standing in front of him while all he can do is watch the open waters that indicate they are far from Arendelle.

 

“Then why in the bloody buggering hell are we not docked?”

 

He’s screaming, harsher than he’s been in months, possibly years, and he hopes they all feel every bit of rage of that he’s feeling right now.

 

“Royal ships from Misthaven arrived while you were in your quarters, and it was a spur of the moment decision to get us as far away from them for fear of what would happen if they noticed a pirate ship docked near them.”

 

It’s been a long time since Killian has felt the need to get violent for more than show, and no matter how irrational, he wants to use his hook to slash Smee into several, slivering pieces. Taking a step forward, the wind picking up and hitting his chest that’s still bare of everything but the straps of his brace, he leans down and into Smee so that the man’s vile breath brushes with his.

 

“We were in Arendelle,” he jeers, lowering his voice knowing that he’s about to escalate it in a moment, “because of the fucking Misthaven ships. And now you’ve taken us away from them because you were too idiotic to think to come ask _your captain_ what to do in what would have taken five seconds and kept us from making a pointless journey.”

 

“You wish to go back, sir? Why?”

 

“My business is my own,” he spits, not bothering to entertain the man with his desires. “Turn this vessel around and have me back in Arendelle before midday or, like I said, the consequences will not be pleasant.”

 

He wants to break something, preferably Smee’s nose, but he knows better than to make the man any more worthless than he is. Instead, her goes back down to his quarters, finishing his dressing by throwing on his preferred black shirt and buttoning his red vest over it, not bothering with the coat as he doesn’t plan on helping with the sailing. They’ve gotten themselves into this mess, and they can damn well get themselves out of it.

 

After calming himself down, his breathing even and his heart beating at a normal rate, he putters around his cabin until he finds his log, flipping through the pages until a portrait falls out and flutters to the table, her green eyes and blonde hair somehow visible even with the black and white charcoal of the drawing.

 

He runs his fingers over her face, tracing the lines that he so wishes were real in the same way that he wishes his dream this morning was real.

 

“I’m sorry, my love,” he whispers, his voice bouncing around in the quietness of the room. “I’ll be with you soon.”

 

* * *

 

They’d been docked for only an hour when he let all of his crew go, the most of them heading to taverns for booze and women despite the early hour and intense sunlight shining down upon them. He on the other hand was headed into the streets of Misthaven, his hook replaced with his gloved prosthetic hand and his leathers replaced with brown slacks and a billowing white shirt with a navy blue vest that reminded him of his days in the Navy with his brother. He had to buy provisions for their coming journey, so while everyone was having an enjoyable time drowning their sorrows in the liquor and bedding women after so long at sea, he was bartering with shops for things such as fresh fruits and meats along with antiseptic and any potions they may need in case of injury, sending the cabin boys running back to the ship with their newly purchased goods as he continued moving among the shops.

 

It was as he was walking through the crowded streets, pushing past the people who had no idea that he was a pirate captain and not a young man simply out and about, that he discovered that the marketplace was so crowded because some kind of festival was being held, brightly colored flags strung from the high points of buildings and live music drowning out the hustle and bustle of so many people chatting and laughing all in one place. It seems that ages have passed since he’d last done something as enjoyable as spend time at a festival or even eat a pastry that was not stale by the time it passed through his lips.

 

What the hell?

 

If the rest of his crew can be having a pleasant time, so can he.

 

Deciding to go to one of the booths that had freshly baked goods, he perused all of his options before finally deciding on a cherry tart, reaching for it only to be stopped by a small, slight hand grabbing onto his wrist and sending shockwaves through his entire body. When he looked to the source of the thing stopping him from his sweet, he completely forgot about the tart because of the woman standing next to him.

 

She is…stunning. He’s seen many a woman in his excess of years throughout the realms, but he’s never seen someone like this. Her skin was as pale and as smooth as porcelain, but it didn’t make her look sickly, the blush rising in her cheeks coloring her almost as much as the green of her eyes that were coated in dark lashes obviously made up by paints that also accentuated her pretty pink lips. Blonde curls cascaded down her shoulders, the thickness of them covering her breasts that we covered by her light white cloak. He’d never really been one for blondes, as few and as rare as the natural ones often were, but he would trade in every other blonde woman in the world just for this one.

 

“You’re staring,” she smirks, shaking him out of what was very frankly staring as their hands still touch over the pastry. He must look like a right idiot, his mouth gaping open and most likely drooling over this woman. It’s like he’s forgotten that he is the fierce Captain Hook and has gone back to being Killian Jones, like the clothes he is wearing really make a difference in his personality.

 

Shaking himself back into himself, he plasters a cocky grin on his face and raises a brow to look down at the lass. “I’m simply trying to see the woman who dares try to take the pastry I wanted when my hand is very obviously closer to it.”

 

“Yeah, but until it’s in your hand,” she winks at him and his heart very likely stutters, “it’s not yours.”

 

He’s so distracted by this woman and her sass that he doesn’t even realize that she’s used her other hand to grab the pastry while she still holds onto his wrist. And he only has the one hand, so he couldn’t have done what she’s just done, sneaking past him and undermining him.

 

“And now,” she smiles, holding up the tart to her nose and inhaling its scent, “it’s mine.”

 

She takes a bite out of it then, chewing until she licks the sugar off of her lips, and the sight of her tongue running against those pretty pink lips has desire shooting straight through him.

 

“Hey,” the vendor yells, shocking the both of them out of whatever daze they were in, “you have to pay for that. You can’t just eat. That’s stealing, and I’ll have you arrested.”

 

The lass seems to be a bit shocked, like she didn’t expect that, and as she stumbles around apologizing, he pulls his coin purse out of his pocket and hands over enough payment for the entire booth of food, grabbing onto two small cake slices for himself and pocketing them. “I apologize. She obviously thought your goods were so heavenly that she couldn’t resist, but there’s no need to call the authorities when the goods have been paid for, aye?”

 

“Just don’t let it happen again. Control your woman.”

 

Even without knowing this woman he knows that she’s going to take offense to that, as she very much should, and he grabs onto her waist and pulls her away before she can get arrested for punching the man’s brains out. He can practically feel her skin under her cloak, and he is enchanted by this woman even as she squirms against him trying to break free of him to presumably run back to attack the vendor.

 

“Get your damn hands off of me,” she curses when they’re far enough away. “I am not your woman, and you cannot fucking control me.”

 

He removes his hand from her side, holding his arms up to show that he’s not touching her, and she brushes off her cloak from where he was indeed touching her.

 

“Lass, no part of me thinks that I nor anyone else can control you. I was simply trying to keep us from being arrested.”

 

“I wasn’t stealing.”

 

“I know that and you know that, but sometimes people aren’t the most rational when they think that something that belongs to them has been taken.”

 

She huffs, obviously frustrated and annoyed, and while he’s endeared by it, he also thinks this woman might cut off his head if she had a sword. But then she pulls the tart out of her cloak and takes a large bite of it, her eyes fluttering closed and her lashes landing against her cheek, and he cannot help but chuckle at the situation he’s somehow ended up in.

 

“What?” she mumbles, her mouth still full of food.

 

“What’s your name, love?”

 

She rolls her eyes. “Well, it’s definitely not love.”

 

“Then what is it?”

 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

 

“Perhaps I would.” He sticks his hand out to take her free one, daring to bring it to his lips and press a lingering kiss there, and he knows that he didn’t imagine the hitch in her breath. “Killian Jones, milady.”

 

“Emma,” she relents, soft smile forming on her face that makes her seem to be actually glowing.

 

“No surname?”

 

“Not one that’s important.”

 

He’s intrigued by the lass, but he can also tell that she’s not someone who he should bed and leave alone, not that he’d ever like to leave her alone. He’d like to know her, his heart doing things to him that it hasn’t done in a long time, and he just has to figure out a way how to get to know her. He’s not dressed as a pirate today, and while he feels that it may be a bit deceitful, it also makes him more accessible to her. She’s obviously highborn with the way she speaks and the silkiness of her hair, not to mention her clothes or the fact that she’s perfumed in something resembling vanilla. A lass like her would never take up with a pirate such as him, so just for today, he can try to be Killian Jones again.

 

The two of them find a bench so that they can eat their goods, and while they don’t talk, it’s still better than he ever expected. He hasn’t simply spent time with a woman in years and while his crew is now most likely drunk and giving several women very forgettable afternoons, he’s sitting with this blonde goddess… _Emma_ …watching the crowds mill about at the festival. When he asks what the festival is for, she tells him that it’s for the princess’s twenty-third birthday, that her parents give the town money every year so that everyone can celebrate the birth of their beloved daughter while the nobility and royals celebrate with much more lavish celebrations inside the palace walls. He’s always known that the rulers here were much kinder than in other realms, stories of true love and defeating evil running through his head as he thinks about everything he knows about Misthaven. When he asks Emma if any of that is true, she simply shrugs her shoulders and says that she doesn’t know, that one cannot believe everything that they hear.

 

The conversation evolves from there, and he was right in thinking that she’s well off as she enjoys reading and writing in her spare time, as well as painting. She says that she’s an apprentice of sorts, but she doesn’t say in what. He chooses not to question the gaps in her story in the same way that she chooses not to question the gaps in his. For every bit as beautiful as she is, she’s also intelligent with a quick wit that keeps him on his toes for the rest of the day as they move from the bench to walk around the festival, looking into the shops and booths and very much avoiding the pastry booth from earlier.

 

It’s the best time he’s had in a long time, all of his scars and demons seeming to fade away as he gets lost in her eyes, and when she asks him to dance, he happily complies until he remembers that she must hold his hand…and his lack of a hand. Suddenly all of the demons come back, all of the insecurities that he hides from his crew through fearsome orders and sarcastic remarks as he commands them around the deck, and this day is not so wonderful after all.

 

She seems to notice his hesitation, and the fearsome, strong, intelligent woman smiles at him with the most understanding eyes he’s ever seen as she not only takes his hand but his gloved prosthetic and leads him into the crowd of dancers likes it’s the most normal thing in the world. It takes him awhile for his heart to start beating a regular rhythm, and by the time it does, it’s erratic from the way he and Emma are spinning around in the crowd, laughing and dancing and having a blast as the sun begins to set and the live music increases in volume to be heard over the crowd of spirited people who have likely been imbibing in spirits all day.

 

When the current song ends, something upbeat and fast, his feet constantly moving as he moves Emma around, using the skills he gained while in the Navy to impress her, he twirls her back into him so that she lands pressed up against his chest, her breasts pressing into him as they heave up and down while the two of them catch their breaths that are intermingling with each other. And if he were to dip his head just the slightest bit as she pressed up on her toes, he could capture the lips he’s been thinking about all day in the most tender of kisses. He knows that Emma’s thinking the same thing, her eyes flittering between his eyes and his lips, and he’s about to go for it when there’s a commotion involving palace guards that has Emma’s eyes blowing wide in worry.

 

“We have to go,” she whispers against his mouth, their lips nearly touching.

 

“What? Why?”

 

“We have to go,” she insists again, throwing the hood of her cloak over her head and tugging on his hand even as his feet stay planted on the ground. “Killian, please,” she begs, her eyes filling with tears, and he barely knows this lass, but he would protect her with his life.

 

“Follow me.” He tucks her into his side and guides her through the crowds and away from the guards that she’s very obviously hiding from. He doesn’t know what’s happening, but he doesn’t care, moving the two of them down all of the streets on the way to the docks, the path familiar even in the darkness of the night.

 

When they get to the docks, the Jolly still prominently displayed among all of the official vessels, Emma stops in her tracks the moment he tries to lead her up the ramp to board his home.

 

“A pirate ship?”

 

“Aye.”

 

“Do you have a death wish?”

 

“No. Just trust me, love.”

 

“I barely know you.”

 

“But do you trust me?”

 

She’s hesitant in her answer, but she still gives it. “Yes.”

 

He tugs her onto the ship, the adrenaline running through him at such a pace that he feels as if he might leave his body, but he knows that Emma’s tentative despite her surprising admission of trust. He’s thankful not to see anyone on deck, though he does wonder where Smee is since he’s supposed to be guarding the ship and keeping watch for any thieves. Whatever is happening with Emma seems to have shaken her up enough for her to follow him down to his quarters without question, and as he places her down on his bed, avoiding thinking about what it would be like to have Emma in his bed under different circumstances, he pulls his flask of rum out of his pocket to take a swig for the first time today.

 

“Is that rum?”

 

“Aye.”

 

She motions her hand to him, and he gives her the flask, taking a much larger swig than someone of her size should before she hands it back to him.

 

“So when you said you work around ships, you meant that you were a pirate captain?” She motions around the room. “Because obviously you are or we’d be dead right now for being in the captain’s quarters.”

 

All of his earlier assessments of her seem to be correct, even with this mystery surrounding her.

 

“Aren’t you perceptive?”

 

“You’re a liar,” she accuses instead of answering, using the old trick of deflection to try to get him to stray from his path, but he’s no idiot.

 

“So are you. Why are you running from palace guards?”

 

“My business is my own.”

 

“You’re on _my_ ship now. If I’m harboring a fugitive of the crown, I need to know.”

 

“I’m not a fugitive,” she mumbles, almost looking like a petulant child instead of a grown woman.

 

“Then who are you?”

 

She seems to take a deep breath, leveling him with such a confident stare that he’s almost taken aback by the ferocity of it.

 

“The princess.”

 

Bloody buggering hell.

 

Instead of asking any of the million questions running through his head, he smiles, inching closer and closer to her until he’s squatting down in front of her, his hand and prosthetic resting on her thighs. “Happy birthday, Princess.”

 

And then he kisses her.

 

She sleeps in his bed that night while he takes the floor, the both of them falling into slumber after telling enough of their stories that they’re no longer strangers to each other but the carriers of each other’s real identities. When he wakes in the morning, she’s no longer there, his bed disheveled and empty of the woman who’s captured pieces of his heart in such little time that it shocks him. Something pangs in his chest as he touches the cold sheets, and it’s not until hours later that he finds a note in his log, the white paper falling to the ground and landing at his feet.

 

_Killian,_

_Thank you for the pastry yesterday. It was a fine birthday present, and I’m sorry that I have to go. There’s a tavern, two right corners away from the pastry stand, actually, and I sneak away to go there most nights that I can. Maybe I’ll see you there?”_

_Emma_

He spends five nights in the tavern before he sees her again, this time clothed in darker clothes with her hair shielded and muted from the dim lights, but when she sees him, she practically glows in happiness.

 

The two of them go on like that for weeks, scheduling nights to rendezvous in between her duties as the princess and his obligations as a pirate, and soon the friendly nights where they get to know each other over sips of his rum and hearty laughter at the expense of others in the tavern grow to nights full of lust and passion and eventually…love.

 

He's fallen in love with her, and he knows that there will never be another woman for him in all of his life. He never thought he could love again, but he does. He loves with his full heart. And the fearsome Captain Hook, scourge of more than the seven seas, is wrapped around the finger of a princess who he loves more than anything in the world, his precious ship included.

 

The best part about it, though, is that she loves him as well.

 

* * *

 

By the time they’ve docked in Arendelle, it’s far past when he and Emma agreed to meet, and he cannot imagine what she’s thinking with him not being there. She could think he’s betrayed her or left her or that something horrible has happened to take him away from her against his will. She’d told him of her parents’ plan to spend the summer in the kingdom known for its pleasant summer months, and instead of the two of them being separated for months at a time, he offered to dock his ship in a new port so that they could be together. The smile on her face then is forever sketched in his mind as well as in the many drawings of her in his log.

 

Except now there’s probably not a smile on her face. Now her visage is most likely resembling his, scowling with anger and sadness all mixed up into one. “You all stay here,” he orders to his crew while they tether the Jolly to the dock, “and you do not leave. If I hear of anyone leaving…well, you don’t want to know what I’ll do to you after the stunt you pulled this morning.”

 

With that, he jumps off the ramp connecting the vessel to dry land, his long leather coat he finally adorned his shoulders with swinging around his ankles as he quickly saunters into town, looking for the tavern named _The_ _Swan_ to meet Emma. She’s likely not there, but he has to try. When he finally locates it, hidden in between several other buildings almost like it doesn’t exist, he lets out a sigh of relief even if there will be no relief to be found inside.

 

And he’s right about that, walking into the tavern with its grimy floors and poor lighting to see no one but drunks lounging about at the tables. Sighing yet again as all of his anger at his crew has rushed out of him and been replaced with disappointment, he goes to the bar to ask for a room for the night as he knows they have them here, not wanting to go back to his ship or partake in anything other than stewing in his own sourness. Years ago if he’d been this melancholy over not seeing a woman, he’d likely hate himself. But he’s not that man anymore.

 

And this isn’t any woman.

 

Taking the heavy key and pocketing it as he makes his way to the staircase, resigned to spending a night alone trying to think of how he’s going to get in touch with Emma other than breaking into the unfamiliar palace, he fails to notice the slight lass dressed in heavy cloaks until she’s standing just beneath his chin.

 

“Emma?” he gasps, his voice louder than he expected as the few people in the tavern turn to him while his love looks up to him, her eyes cloudy with tears and a watery smile on her face.

 

“You’re here,” she marvels, reaching up to run her palms across his jaw, and his entire body relaxes into it. “I thought something happened.”

 

“Tis nothing to worry about, my love,” he promises, bending his knees to scoop Emma up in his arms much to the amusement and wolf whistles of the drunks and room keeper, and also to Emma. “Now I believe that despite the early hour, it’s time for the two of us to go to bed. But not to sleep.”

 

She giggles against his lips before kissing him as he carries her up the stairs, his eyes both unfortunately and fortunately open so that he can navigate them to his room, breaking his mouth away from Emma in order to get the key out of his pocket and unlock the door. He groans at her lips not being on his after so long apart, but she quickly attaches her lips to his neck, licking and sucking so that she can leave a bruise there to obviously mark him as hers.

 

The bloody minx.

 

When they get inside, he unceremoniously drops Emma to the ground and backs her into the door so he can press her into the solid wood and press his body into hers so that he is able to cup her face, his hand and hook threading through her hair, feeling the familiar sensations of her hair against his fingertips while he devours her with his mouth, not wasting any time before he slides his tongue to mix with hers, a hot wet slide of pleasure shooting through him while they partake in a familiar dance. The sentimental side of him thinks that this is like coming home after being away at sea for so long, but the animalistic and heady side of him makes him only able to think about how Emma’s hips are gently rutting against his and causing his cock to twitch at a rapid pace as it hardens in his trousers.

 

“Aren’t you eager, darling?” he teases when they break apart for air and Emma’s hands grab onto his backside while her lips move along to trace his stubble and aide his further hardening length.

 

“You have no fucking idea.”

 

He pushes his hips into hers, harsh and demanding and pinning her even further to the door with no chance of her moving against him. “I think I do.”

 

She practically whimpers even with the many layers of clothes between the two of them, and he needs to be inside of her hot, wet quim right fucking now. Pulling back from her body, unpinning her from the door, he looks at her with darkened, hooded eyes as he deftly unbuttons his vest with his practiced hand.

 

“Take your clothes off, love.”

 

“What? No foreplay?”

 

He quirks an eyebrow and stops his undressing of himself. “Later. Are you in need of foreplay?”

 

“No,” she smiles, her cloak falling from her shoulders while she moves to unlace the front of her dress. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

 

“Have you now? Tell me,” he takes a step closer to her, sticking his hook in between her cleavage and helping to move her dress down to leave her in just her corset, “what have you been thinking?”

 

“Well,” she drawls, licking her bottom lip, and fuck he’s still out of his league when it comes to this woman, “there’s the usual. Thinking about your eyes and your mind and how you make me laugh more than anyone in the world. But then there’s also the thought of your face buried between my thighs as you devour my cunt, making me scream out your name.”

 

“Bloody hell.”

 

He doesn’t even need her to go on, and he knows that she likely as much more to say, her dirty mouth often rivaling his own, picking her up and tossing her down onto the bed, her hair fanning out behind her and her corset shifting to reveal her pretty pink nipples over the top of her corset.

 

“You,” he growls, shucking his own pants and shirt so that he’s bare before her, “are the most intoxicating woman alive.”

 

“Am I?”

 

“Yes.”

  
  
He takes a nipple into his mouth, biting down and causing Emma to scream out in pleasure even faster than he thought she would. He smirks around her nipple before running his tongue around it in circles while the cool tip of his hook brings attention to the neglected bud, Emma moaning at the change in temperature. While still devouring her breasts, he snakes his hand down to her thighs, fingering at her folds and discovering that she really wasn’t in need of much foreplay as she’s absolutely dripping.

 

“See? I wasn’t lying.”

 

“Never thought you were.” He looks up to her, and she already looks thoroughly ravished. “Would you still like me to eat your folds, or would a simple fucking be good enough right now?”

  
  
“The fucking definitely. Also, I love you. I forgot to say that earlier.”

 

He laughs against her breasts before pressing a chaste kiss there. “I love you, darling.”

 

After some maneuvering, he lays on his back while Emma perches herself on her knees above his thighs, guiding his length into her tight, wet heat, the both of them groaning as he fills her to the hilt. “So damn good,” he moans, grabbing at her hip with his hand and his hook. They usually take his hook off, but that seems to have gotten lost in the quickness of their passion.

 

Emma rocks back and forth above him, her breasts bouncing with every roll of her hips and every thrust of his own, their skins slapping together in rhythmic motions as the pressure in his cock continues to build and build and build. They’re surprisingly quiet today, especially considering how they were earlier, but it’s been weeks since they’ve done this and he’s lost in the way that they’re joined together.

 

“You close, love?”

 

She shakes her head no as she continues to move above him, and he releases her hip to coat his thumb with their joined juices and rub at her bundle of nerves in quick, hard circles that he knows will have her reach her peak. He holds off on his own pleasure until Emma’s walls flutter around him, and she falls apart aided by him thumb where they’re joined and his lips on her breasts. He doesn’t last much longer, spilling himself up into her before she can even come down from her high.

 

After several rounds of furious love making, he crawls out of bed to peruse the small shelf of books in the room. For such a shoddy place, this is a nice touch. He and Emma often like to read together, and it’ll be a nice way to pass the time while their bodies and brains are likely still the slightest bit shaky. Sitting up against the wall, he pulls Emma between his legs, her back resting against his chest as his arms wrap around her stomach and rest just below her bare breasts while he reads to her, lulling her into a drowsier state and simply enjoying getting to be with her since he has no idea how long this will last.

 

He’s since removed his hook, his stump bared to her as she massages the angry red lines from the initial injury as well as the swollen, irritated skin from the way that his brace cuts into his skin. She is the only person allowed to touch him there, and her touch is like heaven as she comforts him. They read for awhile until they begin to talk, telling each other all of the things that they’ve missed in each other’s absence, including the fact that Emma’s father has apparently brought them here in order to continue to search for her grandfather’s murderer. She’s mentioned her father’s obsession with that before, but he’s never thought much about it except for telling her that revenge brings nothing but pain.

 

“When can I see you again, my princess?”

 

She hums before turning her head to kiss at his chest, right over a scar she often likes to mark with her tongue. “I have my own chambers in the palace, and they’re guest chambers, far, far away from my parents and from Elsa and Anna. So if you’d like to scale a few walls with that handy hook of yours, I think I’d be very amenable to having a roommate.”

 

He sighs before leaning down and pressing the sloppiest of kisses against her neck and breathing her in again. The room smells of sweat and sex, but she still smells of vanilla. “I love you, sweetheart. More than anything in all of the realms.”

 

“I love you, too.” She leans her head back so she can look at him even with the awkward angle. “I wish I could be with you all of the time. My parents go on and on about true love, but even though I’ve found it, I know they wouldn’t approve. And that’s fucking dumb because how could they not approve of you?”

 

“So you think I’m your true love?”

 

“That’s what you got out of that?”

 

“Aye.”

 

“You’re impossible.”

 

“You’re my true love.”

 

Emma has to leave before nightfall, but he makes sure to kiss her goodbye so passionately that she’ll be feeling it for the two days of their separation, a dopey, bashful smile on her as she stumbles over the doorstep and walks away as he stays in their room in nothing but his untied leather trousers watching her walk away.

 

He scouts out the palace for the entirety of the next day, trying to find its weaknesses and how exactly he’s going to break through all of the guards to get to and from Emma’s chambers. She’d left him with a note of instructions for where her room is located, and as much as he loves her, she’s not the best with describing directions. She said her room had a massive round window with a balcony over the ivy-covered walls. The only problem is that there are two windows that match that exact description and even though he knows how to get inside the palace gates, he doesn’t know which exactly to climb.

 

Hoping for the best, he picks one, knowing that he cannot very well wait around forever after being late to he and Emma’s first meeting, and as the sweat drips down his back while he tries not to plummet to his death, he wonders if he’s ever going to stop having to chase after this woman. By the time he’s safely on the balcony, hitting the window open so that he can crawl inside, he’s bone tired from the climb. He’s going to have to scope out an easier way to visit her or she’s going to have to come to the Jolly more often.

 

It’s not until he’s inside that he realizes that this isn’t Emma’s bedroom. This is a hallway and fuck, he picked the wrong window. This is…this is not good. He could climb back out, but he doesn’t think his body can take it if he’s honest about his limits. He’s plenty fit, his muscles lean and slender, but it’s not as if he practices climbing towers every day of his bloody life. His mind briefly thinks about he and Emma taking a hot bath together to soothe his aching muscles, but first he’s got to find his way to her.

 

The hallways are not as well lit as he would expect a palace to be, not nearly as bright as Emma’s palace, but it does make it easier to sneak around, avoiding the voices and footsteps that he hears as he maneuvers his way out and about, trying to match the architecture of the outside of the palace with the inside. That’s where he makes his fatal mistake, however, because when he turns left thinking he’s going to be on his way to being reunited with Emma, he ends up standing in front of Emma’s father and several other people standing around an oval table with what he assumes are the papers and maps Charming’s using on his hunt for his father’s murderer.

 

He doesn’t even have the chance to sneak away before Charming himself as well as several angry guards are looking at him with daggers in their eyes and most likely daggers in their hilts.

 

Oh fuck.

 

Before he can even speak, he’s being grabbed by the guards, his back hitting a wall so hard that he wants to lash out in pain, but he cannot because he has two sharp swords pointing at his neck. He’s most likely going to die. If not today, later when he’s charged with trespassing. He doesn’t even care for himself. He cares for Emma because she will be heartbroken to not only lose him, but to lose him by her own father’s hand. He doesn’t want that for her.

 

Thinking on his feet, because isn’t that what he’s always done, he takes a deep breath, careful not to let his neck protrude enough to hit a sword as he tries to talk himself out of this situation. For himself…and for Emma.

 

“I’d suggest you not slit my throat open, your Majesty.”

 

“Why the hell not, you dirty pirate?” Charming stands with his hands on his hips, his face contorting in anger. “Captain Hook, I believe.”

 

“Ah, so you’ve heard of me.” He smiles, and he’s a cocky arsehole. “I see that my reputation proceeds me.”

 

“It does, but I wouldn’t take that as bragging rights. Why are you here?”

 

“Well, you see, a rumor has gone about the village that the King of Misthaven is here in search of the man who killed his father. And well, I may be but a dirty pirate captain, but you don’t get to be someone like me without some intelligence. And I happen to have a knack for finding people. So I’d like to offer my help.”

 

“How could you possibly help me? You’re nothing but a pirate.”

 

For Emma to be so bright, her father seems to have a distinct lack of insults, and Killian can feel his teeth grinding into each other as he tries to control his temper, not that he could do anything about it if I wanted to.

 

“Aye, but judging a man based on solely his livelihood is not always the best of intentions. For instance, if I were to judge you on yours alone, I’d take you to be pompous. But now that I know you, I know that you’re a pompous ass.”

 

The swords tighten on his throat, and that really wasn’t the best of his plans. But gods does he really despise Emma’s father right now.

 

“Watch your mouth.”

 

He bites his tongue to keep from saying something about where his mouth has been on his daughter. He’s haughty, but he’s not stupid.

 

“Look,” Killian grumbles, “let me help you. I spent years of my life seeking out vengeance, and while I know now that it’s not worth it, I’d still like to help you maybe discover that on your own. I’m good in a bind, and you need someone who’s a little more rapscallion than prince.”

 

“You’re known for committing many crimes. What’s keeping me from arresting you right now?”

 

“Tis not your jurisdiction.”

 

“But I’m friends with the queen.”

 

Yeah, and so is Emma. He’s heard many a tale of Elsa, and he knows that she would free him so as not to hurt Emma. But the King doesn’t know that, and he doesn’t plan on letting him know that he has any associations with Emma.

 

“Aye, but I think you need me. I ask for no coin for my assistance. I only ask for a favor.”

 

Charming crosses his arms over his chest, and he looks so much like Emma in this moment that his heart aches for her. “What’s the favor?”

 

“I’d like to keep that my little secret until this adventure is over.”

 

“You should listen to him, dad.”

 

He can’t move his neck, but his eyes dart to Emma who’s now standing at the entrance to the door, dressed in only her nightgown that he knows she was wearing for him. He wants to speak to her, to reach out and touch her, hug her, kiss her, but he cannot so much as move for fear of having his head sliced open.

 

“Emma, what are you doing here? And why would you trust a pirate you don’t know?”

 

She looks to him and he shakes his head no as much as he can, trying to make sure that she knows not to share their connection.

 

“Because this has been driving you mad for years now, and if he says he can help, you have to at least try. You of all people should know that sometimes help comes in the most surprising of places.”

 

The next morning after being briefed on everything they know about the murder of Charming’s father twenty years ago (and after being stuck sleeping in the brig when he was supposed to be sleeping with his princess), he and Charming as well as the rest of the King’s guards head out on horseback for the full day’s ride to the neighboring town where the man suspected of the murder is hiding out.

 

He’s got two guards flanking him, which seems entirely unnecessary because they’ve rid him of all of his weapons, his hook included, and he’s not even capable of holding onto the reins of his horse. The entire ride is silent, and he spends most of it trying to work through what to do in this situation. He obviously has to help Charming find his father’s killer, but no part of him thinks it will be that simple. He’s killed before, yes, and he’ll admit that. Emma knows of his past and of all of his deeds that he performs as a pirate captain. She knows how he lost his hand to Blackbeard and how he sliced the man’s foot in return. She knows it all, and while he tries not to let his misdeeds haunt him, they still can. And he knows that if Charming murders this man, he’ll feel more shame and regret than satisfaction.

 

When night falls, they make camp in a cleared area of the forest, a fire crackling between all the men as they sit in the silence that’s been following them all day. How the hell do these people not talk? He gets that most of them are working under their king’s guard, but his crew works under him and when they’re not idiots, he spends plenty of time drinking and talking and gambling with them.

 

“So pirate,” Charming begins out of nowhere, and he’s never hated the word pirate more than when it comes out of Charming’s mouth, “you say you sought revenge. What for?”

 

He doesn’t want to share, no with this man, but it’s part of how he knows that revenge isn’t worth it. He searched for years to avenge his brother, and it brought him nothing but further pain.

 

“The death of my brother by the hand of an evil man.”

 

“And not for the loss of your hand?”

 

“My brother is a tad bit more important than an appendage.” His lips curl up in a smirk. “Unless you’re talking about the appendage that brings us blokes so much pleasure with the lasses.”

 

“You’re disgusting.”

 

“You’re a prude.”

 

Most likely to change the subject, Charming asks, “But you said you stopped seeking revenge?”

 

“Aye,” Killian smiles, thinking of Emma.

 

“Why?”

 

“I fell in love with a lass.”

 

David seems to laugh at Killian being able to find love before schooling his features. “Is she also a pirate?”

 

Killian laughs then, thinking of Emma as a pirate, and it’s the first time he’s felt genuinely happy and calm since this entire thing began. “No. She’s much more noble than I, and despite our differences, we love each other. She taught me that love is more important than revenge.”

 

“So you really do love this woman? Truly?”

 

“Aye, I’d go to the ends of the world for her. Or time.” He smiles to himself before scuffing his foot in the ground. “Would you not do the same for your wife? Or your daughter? Why seek revenge when you have so much love?”

 

“I simply need to know,” he sighs, frustration and anger evident in his gaze. “I need this chapter of my life to be over with.”

 

He’s woken early in the morning for their journey to continue, and by the time they get to the shady burrow that Killian knows is home to those often running from the law and running from themselves, the sky is a hazy mixture of oranges and reds as the sun sets and nightfall is upon them. Their information indicates that the man is of slight build with a shaved head but a long beard full of mixtures of blacks and reds, mostly likely with jewelry attached to the end of it. After a few hours of searching, Killian spots the man walking down the streets and disappearing into a tavern while Charming doesn’t see any of this, and he has no idea what to do with this information.

 

“Charming.”

 

“Your Majesty to you, Hook.”

 

He knows that he said he didn’t want to murder for revenge anymore, but he’s about one more arsehole statement from the King away from stabbing him.

 

“Killian,” he grits out, trying to contain his anger and frustration. “I can’t very well be Hook without mine, _your Majesty_.” He waves his bare stump in the air, the sleeve of his shirt falling down to uncover his scars. “If the man you’re seeking is hiding out here instead of living in riches, it’s likely that he was simply hired to kill your father. And while he’s to blame, he wasn’t the one actually doing the killing. He was probably doing it for money.”

 

“I know. But he still stabbed my father, and he deserves to be punished. Or to at least tell me who ordered the attack.”

 

Resigning himself to Charming never changing his mind, he sighs before nodding to the tavern. “He’s in there. But maybe don’t go barging in killing someone or it’ll start a riot that’ll result in more than one death.”

 

If he’s anything like his daughter, Killian knows that he won’t listen.

 

And he’s right as Charming barges in there with his sword unsheathed and anger in his heart as he pulls the man from his seat and threatens to slit his throat as Killian and the guards try to keep the other patrons from attacking. It’s not going very well, and he needs his damn hook.

 

“You killed my father,” Charming screeches, further holding his sword up to the throat of the man, his throat heavily bobbing against the metal.

 

“I don’t know you, and I didn’t kill nobody.”

 

Emma’s father very obviously doesn’t believe the man, and while as far as Killian can tell, the man’s not lying, but he’s not entirely telling the truth either.

 

“Twenty years ago you orchestrated an attack against the King of a foreign land. The man you stabbed in the heart, that was my father.”

 

Killian sees the recognition in the man’s eyes before that recognition turns into fear. “I – I – I only did it for the money. It wasn’t nothing against your pops. A woman with red lips and a shining black dress, real rich like and provocative, like a fancy whore, paid me. Said I’d never have to work again if I did it. So I did. But it was only to help my family who I don’t even got no more.”

 

“So you helped your family by destroying mine?”

 

Charming moves his sword away from the man’s neck, and Killian sees that he’s about to stab the man with a hidden dagger, and he just can’t allow that to happen, running toward Charming so quickly that he tackles him to the ground, his body weighing down Charming’s, and he feels a slight prick on his side that he already knows is a slice in his side by Charming’s dagger.

 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Charming seethes, his voice breaking as Killian’s vision starts to go blurry, everything beginning to fade away.

 

“Saving you from a lifetime of guilt,” he grits out, the pain only increasing the more he’s jostled around. “From the sounds of it, it was your wife’s step-mother who ordered his death, and she’s dead now. Isn’t that enough for you? The woman who killed your father is dead. Don’t make someone else die and live with that guilt forever.”

 

 _Oh fuck, this hurts_. He grabs onto his side to try to contain the pain only to lift his arms in front of him and see that his hand and stump are covered in his own blood. He’s going to die and bleed out, and he’s never going to see Emma again. He’ll never kiss her or make love to her again. He’ll never hear her laugh or see her smile. He’ll never get to go through the joy of making up with her after a fight or be able to think about the possibility of a future with her. He’ll never…everything goes black.

 

He tries to open his eyes, but they seem to be sealed shut, the utter and total blackness only lightening bit by bit as his head pounds and his entire body aches. Something wet is touching against his forehead. He knows of that much, and he has to force his eyes to creak open only to be blinded by the golden hair that is surrounding him.

 

It’s Emma.

 

“Hello, beautiful,” he croaks out, his voice barely coming out like he hasn’t used it for days. Has he not used it for days? How is he here? How is she here?

 

“Killian?” she gasps, like she’s shocked that he’s here when he’s the one that has not bloody idea what’s going on or even where he is. “Oh, my love, you’re awake,” she cries, peppering kisses across his face as he tries to smile at the contact. He doesn’t know what’s happening. He doesn’t remember anything from after he…got stabbed. Fuck, he got stabbed.

 

Jumping up from his position on the bed, his side and head aching at the movement, and shit, he very obviously has been stabbed in the side as well as unconscious for several days if this pain is any indication. He has to lay back down, everything about his body pounding and aching and the tears falling from Emma’s cheeks onto him do not help in the slightest.

 

“How long…how long have I been out?”

 

“Eleven days.”

 

He must fall asleep again because when he wakes up next, everything is much clearer and the pain less intense while the room is darker.

 

“Hi,” Emma whispers, and he wonders how long she’s been watching him. “Are you feeling better?”

 

“Water.” He needs water, his voice cracking and his throat and lips dry until Emma comes back with a glass of lukewarm water that might as well be gold. “Thank you. And I am now.”

 

He’s still in pain and while he runs over his injuries and tries to think over everything that happened, Emma runs her hands through his hair like she often does after they’ve made love as the two of them drift off to sleep. It’s this thought that has him realize that he’s not in an infirmary but a bedchamber fit for a princess.

 

“Emma, love, am I in your room?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“How am I in your room?”

 

“My parents know about us.”

 

He must have died because Emma just said that her parents know about them, and he’s still breathing.

 

“And I’m not dead?”

 

“Not for lack of trying from my father apparently.”

 

“Why am I not in an infirmary? I know you’re strong, darling, but I know you couldn’t have carried my dead weight here in secret.”

 

Emma tells him the tale of his return and the frantic search for medical attention for him. Her parents know about the two of them and their dalliances and love affair because Emma apparently broke down at seeing his blood-drained body unconscious, sobbing uncontrollably as she thought she’d lost him. She refused to be separated from him, insisted that he be healed in the comfort of her room here in Arendelle and not be stuck in the nastiness of an infirmary. She hadn’t had time to fight with her parents about the two of them because she hadn’t allowed it, saying that she wouldn’t have a serious discussion about it without Killian because this isn’t just about her, it’s about them.

 

“I was so scared that I was going to lose you.”

 

“You don’t have to worry about that, love,” he reassures her, cupping her head and bringing her down for a kiss. “I’m a survivor.”

 

When his body has mostly healed, he and Emma are set to have a conversation with her parents about the two of them and the events that have happened over the last few weeks. He’s never been so nervous in his life, especially since he does not know what will happen should Emma’s parents banish him from seeing her and then keep extra eyes on her so that she cannot escape to meet him in secret. They surprise him, though, thanking him for his service to their kingdom in both loving Emma and keeping Charming from making a mistake he knows he would regret for the rest of his life. There may be an apology for accidentally stabbing him as well. Just maybe.

 

He thinks it’s all over until Charming looks at him with parted lips and widened eyes like he’s forgotten something. “I forgot to ask, Captain. What was the favor you wanted in return for your services?”

 

He doesn’t fail to notice he was called captain and not pirate.

 

Killian smirks because while he didn’t know at the time what exactly he’d ask for, he knows now.

 

“Your blessing for Emma’s hand in marriage, should she want that.”

  
She does.


End file.
